My identical twin sister and I were the happiest of toddlers. That is, until he came along. We were our parents' first children, and our grandparents' first grandchildren. Our aunts and uncle spoiled us. We had the greatest life until the age of 3. That is when our little brother appeared, bringing with him the introduction of sibling rivalry in our family! My sis and I were no longer the center of the universe. We were not happy about this little bundle of yuck our parent's brought home from the hospital and we wanted to send him back immediately if not sooner. He took the devoted attention away from us and put it on himself. He was not wanted and needed to go!
I bring this up because I read an article not long ago on sibling rivalry among toddlers where parents seem so concern about this and should children be sent to therapy at the ages of 3, 4, 5, etc., to deal with sibling rivalry. Good grief people! Sibling rivalry is normal. If your kids aren't arguing, there is something wrong (repressing feelings, lurking psychotic thoughts, evilness lying in wait, etc.). Yes, sibling rivalry ran rampant (that would be an alliteration) between my brother and my sister and I, and I think we are the better for it. Let me make a disclaimer here: I'm not a doctor, pediatrician, psychiatrist, or a psychologist, and I'm not pretending to be. I'm just someone who lived through sibling rivalries, and they are normal.
My earliest recollection of our (and by "our" I mean my twin sister and I) feeble attempts to try and rid ourselves of the little cretin was when my sister and I were 5 and our brother was 2. He definitely entered the "terrible two's" stage and he was an affliction that we were not prepared to (nor did we want to) deal with. My brother was given stick horse, a red stick horse (the long stick with the large stuffed plastic horse head on top, with a bridle and rein). My parents, in their infinite wisdom, decided this was a good gift for the brat. He didn't ride around on it and play cowboy; he used it as a weapon, an instrument of ache, against my sister and I. We tattled to no end, but our grievances fell on deaf ears. One Saturday afternoon my parents were outside and ignoring our pleas (once again) to make him stop mauling us with this "toy." So, we took the law into our own hands, running inside and locking him outside. We licked our wounds and assumed we were safe. That lasted for 2 minutes. He then, using the stick horse, knocked through the glass door and gained entrance. We were greeted with the red stick horse swirling through the air with angry vengeful force. When we came out from hiding, my parents arrived on the scene, and my sister and I were punished for locking him out (of course!!).
The next incident occurred weeks later. Once again, my parents were outside doing yard work, when my sister and I discovered our mother had left the children's chewable vitamins out on the counter. Let's face it, those things are like candy. My sister and I downed almost the entire bottle (It was only 1/3 full anyway). When my parents came back inside and saw the empty bottle, they were in a panic. My sister and I told them our brother had taken them. My parents were shaking him, then my dad was on the phone to the hospital or pediatrician, and there was some concern about iron poisoning, and having his stomach pumped, blah, blah, blah. We later 'fessed up, but not after he took some punishment.
At the age of 6, my sister and I overheard a telephone conversation between my mother and a friend. My mother was telling the friend that our little brother was "an accident" and boy oh boy did we run with that one! We told him he wasn't really wanted. He just arrived by accident and so now we had to keep him, even though no one really wanted him. I remember him crying and saying it wasn't true, but it didn't seem to bother him much. Later he swore he was adopted anyway (he wasn't).
We made him eat mud pies we created. We made him do our dirty work. We made him play with Barbies. We blamed everything possible on him. I think one of us even tried to chop his big toe off with the garden hoe (or, it may have been him that did that to himself, I really can't remember). We continued to torture him, both physically and mentally until he reached the age of 6 or 7 (approximately). By then, he was bigger than we were and refused to take any more punishment from us. It was good while it lasted.
I guess my point, in response to the alarm in the article I read on sibling rivalry, is that siblings eventually grow out of the rivalry stage (if they are healthy and mature) and learn to get along. Siblings have to settle conflicts their own way (that is my humble opinion anyway). As adults, we three are rather good friends and spend most holidays together and speak or email on a semi-regular basis. For those of you worried about my brother, I can assure you, the bonehead is alive and kicking, and is now down to only 2 days of therapy each week and his scars have healed nicely...
--Fortuitous Observer